


The Firebird Suite

by Iwovepizza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Death, Digital Art, Elk Sam, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fire God Castiel, Forest God Sam, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Nature God Dean, Phoenix Castiel, Sprite Dean, Temporary Character Death, Wolf Ruby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwovepizza/pseuds/Iwovepizza
Summary: Every year, Sam wakes Dean up, lets him bring back spring and summer, and then puts him back to sleep in the fall. That's how it's always been, and that's how it always will be.That is, until Dean realizes that something has been infecting his forest with a terrible disease, tracing it to the barren North Mountain.Little did he know that he'd unleash a beast beyond anything he's ever imagined, and he realizes that, with humans on the horizon raring to clear the land for livestock, his forest might be in more trouble than he'd thought.(Based on The Firebird Suite short from Fantasia 2000)





	1. Old Gods

**I.**

**OLD GODS**

_Chapter Soundtrack:_

_“Wintery Winds”_ Frank Churchill and Edward H. Plumb, _Bambi_ (1942)

\----Ӝ----

 

            There came a night when the wolves fell silent and only the wind howled.

            The trees creaked and groaned, their branches rattling together like the tail of a desert serpent as they reluctantly bowed to the gusts skimming over them. The tumultuous clouds wept silently, flakes of snow settling onto the ground with a whisper and blanketing the forest floor with a layer of shimmering white.

            The trees and bushes sagged under its weight, and the few sturdy pines that still clung to their foliage looked like they had been drowned in a tub of white paint, their evergreen color almost completely smothered by the snow.

            What remaining birds that hadn’t fled with the summer were silent, huddled among the notches in the trees in hopes of escaping the biting chill that hung in the air like a swarm of hornets, stinging at any exposed skin and turning it an angry red.

            A mountain lion screamed in the east, a shriek like a woman possessed, and a lone squirrel froze in its tracks, its ears pricked for danger. Upon realizing that the predator was not in close proximity, it scampered back to its burrow, its arms full of acorns that it had unearthed on its travels.

            Its feet left tracks that were soon swallowed up by the snowfall, making it seem like there’d never even been a squirrel in the first place.

            The river’s mellow murmuring had fallen silent, its surface frozen over and the rocks on its banks encased in frost, but if one leaned over to peer through the ice they could see the water still chugging along like the pumping of a sluggish artery.

            The forest wasn’t dead, merely asleep.

            Heavy footsteps interrupted the deathly hush, snow crunching and bare branches clattering as a gigantic elk made his way through the woods.

            His antlers stretched out like the branches of an ancient tree, snow clinging to his coat like a fine dusting of sugar, and his eyes glowed green like the lights of a click beetle in midsummer.

            He snorted, a plume of steam rising up from his nostrils while he slogged away against the snow, his hooves leaving a winding trail of cloven tracks behind him.

            The cold could not tempt him with her icy touch and the scarcity of food did not claw at his belly. The elk was on a mission, clearly, and neither the chill of the winter nor the pang of hunger was willing to block his path.

            He leapt over the frozen river with ease, toiling away as the wind pushed harder and howled louder in his ears, but he was not afraid.

            A crow watched him from the trees, croaking softly to its brethren; an elk separated from the heard could quite mean an eventual meal, but the elk turned his head and it fell silent, stunned by its glowing eyes.

            “My apologies, Your Majesty,” it rasped with a polite dip of its head, ruffling its feathers as its eyes glinted like chips of flint. The rest of its flock watched on, their beaks clicking as the branches they were perched on swayed hypnotically. “I presumed you to be a lone buck. I knew not of your identity.”

            The elk said nothing, exhaling plumes of steam and walking on.

            The trees seemed to part for him as he passed, the wind pushing them to bow as if in reverence, and he held his head up high despite how the moisture in his eyes was starting to crust into ice.

            He was pretty sure he heard a wolf’s cry from ahead, but the only sign of the elk’s wariness was the rotation of his ears and the flick of his tail. He knew this path like he knew the twists and turns of his own antlers, and he knew that no harm would come to him when he was traveling upon it.

            Anyone else would find no path to speak of; the forest was like a maze, especially in the winter when all of the trees looked the same and the snow disguised any notable landmarks like an icy veil, and those who dared to venture into its depths would perish at nature’s merciless hand.

            The elk’s ears twitched at the sound of a near-silent paw whispering against the snow, and he turned to find a russet she-wolf peering at him from the shadows. Her snow-covered pelt blended in perfectly with the bleached landscape, and her lips peeled back into a toothy grin.

            He paused, turning his mighty head to her, and she dipped her head respectfully. “You only pass through my territory once every other season, Your Majesty, and for one specific reason.”

            “Indeed, Ruby,” he chuckled as she trotted over to him, her tail held high and her breath clouding the air.

            “I’m glad you’re here,” she stated, weaving in and out of his legs. “This winter has been awful. I’m glad to see its end.”

            She paused, plopping down in the snow and letting her tongue loll out of her mouth. “I’m also glad to see _you_ , Samuel.”

            “It’s Sam,” the elk snorted despite them having gone over this many times before, tossing his head. “And thank you. I’m glad to see you, too.”

            “Mighty Prince of the Forest, I humbly accept your praise,” she teased, lowering her front paws in a mockery of a bow. “I assume you’re headed to the Sacred Falls, as usual?”

            “Correct. Care to accompany me?”

            “Of course.”

            The journey was less somber with Ruby scampering alongside him, making small talk and providing amusement as she stumbled over hidden stones and labored against particularly high drifts of snow.

            “Hey, don’t laugh!” she growled, her hackles bristling. “I’m sorry that I don’t have your fancy footwork. Perhaps you could give me a ride and you won’t have to worry about it.”

            “No one rides on my back.”

            “Dean does.”

            “Dean is an exception for obvious reasons.”

            Ruby rolled her eyes, prancing ahead and holding her head high in a mocking caricature of Sam. Her grin revealed long, serrated canines.

            Sam could smell the fresh kill on her breath.

            Though she was a predator, she was familiar, one of the few friends he had in this vast, lonely forest where all of the animals either feared or worshipped him. She did what she had to survive, and Sam could not blame her any more for killing rabbits than he could blame himself for eating grass.

            “But seriously, this winter has sucked.” She leaped over a fallen tree trunk, the dry foliage of a long-dead shrub crackling beneath her paws. “Ellen lost her mate and both of her cubs, and Crowley’s pack has been fighting like, well, dogs ever since that hunter killed Azazel.”

            “Crowley is hardly a fit alpha,” Sam agreed with a shake of his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the pack split in the future.”

            “Ugh, _packs_.” Ruby spat the word like it was a farmer’s poison. “Still haven’t regretted going lone after all these years.”

            “It suits you. And I heard the songbirds whispering about Ellen’s cubs when they were migrating. It truly is a tragedy, but at least we can look forward to that new bear family that wandered in from the forest beyond the North Mountain.”

            “Exciting. How many?”

            “A mother, a father and his two brothers, and three cubs. They’re very polite and payed me all the proper homage.”

            “Great. The last thing we need are ursa major assholes who don’t know respect. It’s prevalent in the younger generation; too worried about hunters and climate change to bother with the laws of the land.”

            They traveled for a while longer in comfortable silence, listening to the wind whistling and the crunch of snow beneath their feet. After about a half hour of travel, the ground started to slope gently downward, the trees leaning precariously to one side as they grew straight out of the tilted ground.

            Even Sam was having trouble keeping his footing, skidding and sliding as his hooves slipped on ice and loose rocks. His antlers, unshed for many years and each weighing more than a grown man, put most of his weight in the front, and it took all of his effort not to tumble down like an avalanche.

            Ruby, though she was notably lighter and had the advantage of claws, didn’t fare much better as she struggled against the sharp incline.

            But this was a good sign, a sign that they were close to their destination, and the closeness of Sam’s goal was worth the strain on his already weary legs. He and Ruby labored a bit more before the end of the slope drew near and Sam galloped down the rest of the way, his shoulders sagging in relief.

            “Wait up, Sasquatch!” Ruby snapped, nearly buried up to her snout in a drift as she wriggled her way down and shook herself off. “Not everyone has legs that are as long as yours, you know.”

            Sam snorted, shaking his head, and set off at a brisker pace, leaving Ruby scrambling to keep pace with his trot. His excitement bled through his solemn demeanor, and he bucked and leapt around like a newborn calf, giddy with anticipation of what was to come. A chipmunk leapt out of the way as to not get trampled by pounding cloven feet, muttering a few obscenities under his breath and darting up the nearest tree when he caught Ruby eying him.

            Sam’s coat billowed around him as he kicked up snow and dirt, shaggy from many centuries of being grown out, and he gave an exasperated rumble when some of it got snagged in a tangle of brambles.

            Ignoring Ruby’s snicker, he wriggled his way out of the thorns, leaving chunks of hair behind and exclaiming cheerfully, “We’re finally here.”

            Before Ruby could ask how he knew that, she realized that the trees had started to thin out, growing slimmer and stouter until the forest opened up into a wide clearing peppered with huge stones carried over by glaciers many eons ago.

            A gurgling pool of grey water sloshed merrily on the far side, its banks frozen but its core kept liquid by the churning of the Sacred Falls that tumbled over the twelve foot cliff that was rising up on all sides. Icicles clung to the rocks, making the crag look like the beard of a grizzled old man, and the rumble of the waterfall was one of the most welcoming sounds Sam had ever heard.

            It was a greeting, almost. A joyous salutation after Sam’s arduous trek.

            He passed the Sacred Oak, the ancient, twisting tree that he himself had been birthed from, and he smirked at the initials carved into its weathered surface by deft hands.

            “I’m sorry, Ruby, but you are forbidden from going any further,” he explained apologetically as he stopped at the edge of the pool, and the she-wolf nodded, having expected this from her many travels with Sam beforehand.

            “It’s not like I’d want to take a dip in there anyway,” Ruby huffed, scampering over to the Sacred Oak and curling up among its gnarled roots. “I’ll wait here.”

            Dipping his head, Sam turned to face the Sacred Falls, which, despite the winter season, was not even remotely frozen. With a deep breath and a moment’s hesitation, he waded in, feeling the water surge up to meet him as he swam toward the towering column of water.

            His coat soaked up the water like a wet sponge, chilling him to the very marrow of his bones, but he surged on. The water sloshed around him, reaching up to his chest, and he groaned softly to himself when it began to climb up his body, the ground beneath him slipping away as the pool grew deeper.

            He lifted his head up to keep his nose up as his legs churned, burning from the exertion and the previous expedition, but he soldiered on. Pretty soon he was up and close with the falls, a wall of white stretched out in front of him that bellowed like an infinite roll of thunder, and he maneuvered around it as not to get crushed by the weight of the water flow.

            Rather than a blank wall, there was a small cave hidden behind the waterfall, and Sam clambered up onto the rocks, shaking himself off and shivering as the cold air made frost crystallize on his soggy pelt.

            A single icicle hung like a dagger from the ceiling, darkness stretching on all sides like the pelt of a black bear, and Sam staggered further inside, his exhaustion finally taking hold.

            He smiled wearily as he looked up at the icicle, craning his neck and releasing a single hot exhale onto its surface. The icicle dripped once. Twice.

            And suddenly it dissolved all together, water falling into the floor in a shifting, churning puddle.

            Sam leaned down, his breath ghosting over the puddle as it began to take shape.

            “Wake up, Dean,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on The Firebird Suite short from Fantasia 2000. All pieces of digital art are taken from stills from that short, altered by me. Please comment if you liked it!


	2. The Awakening

**II.**

**THE AWAKENING**

_Chapter Soundtrack:_

_“The Nutcracker March”_ Tchaikovsky, __The Nutcracker_ (1892)_

\----Ӝ----

 

            Waking up after six straight months of sleep always sucked a whole lot more than Dean expected.

            Sure, he didn’t feel the time go by; one moment Sam was bidding him farewell and laying him to rest and the next moment he was waking Dean up again, but it was still incredibly disorienting.

            He coughed and spluttered as his form began to take shape, ripples forming into hands and droplets into hair and lashes. Even more uncomfortable than building his shape back up from the water of a goddamn icicle was the all-consuming cold.

            He raised his watery hands up to his shoulders, his teeth chattering together as soon as they hardened, and he exhaled raggedly as his water became flesh. His skin was spongey and ashen, like that of a corpse’s, and he was pretty sure his lips were blue.

            Sam bent his gigantic head and nudged him gently with his freezing nose, his breath hot against Dean’s shoulder.

            “Heya, Sammy,” he rasped, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He tried for a smile, but he was shivering too hard. “Springtime already?”

            “Indeed,” Sam rumbled. Was it Dean or had his antlers gotten bigger? “Do you need help?”

            Dean nodded and Sam lowered his head so that he could wrap his arms around his shaggy neck, rising to trembling and unsteady feet, which were bare. The skins that clothed him were crumbling, unmeant to be transferred liquid to solid form, and Dean made a mental note to find some more later.

            There was a crown of gnarled, withered branches around his head despite Dean remembering it being packed full to bursting with the season’s most beautiful flowers.

            “How’ve you been?” Dean grunted as he found his footing, managing to stand without holding on to Sam’s antlers. “What did I miss?”

            “Nothing catastrophic, if you were wondering. A new bear family moved in, the humans have expanded across the southern border, Azazel was killed by a hunter and the wolves are in disarray, and Ellen’s mate and cubs died.”

            Dean gasped, clapping a hand over his mouth. “That sounds pretty damn catastrophic, Sammy!”

            “Winter is not a time of ease.”

            “Well, it shouldn’t be a time of hardship, either,” Dean retorted as the color slowly started returning to his skin, the chill subsiding as his body started warming up the air around him. “I should stay here all year round. Maybe then everyone in the forest will stop dying.”

            “Without death, there is no life.” A pause, then, “I suppose I shouldn’t be trying to make this argument with one of the literal embodiments of Life itself.”

            “No, you shouldn’t. Now carry me, Prince, because there’s no way I’m getting in that damn water.”

            The trip across the pool was the worst, as usual. He planted one foot on either antler like some sort of acrobat as his brother swam back to shore, yelping when the water touched him, and he was glad that Sam was too busy trying to keep his head above water to laugh.

            He leapt off as soon as Sam hauled himself on shore, exhaling raggedly when his feet sunk ankle-deep into snow. It was cold, but it melted as soon as Dean’s feet made contact with it, replaced by lush, feet-shaped patches of grass and a few dandelions.

            Sam shook himself off, sending frigid droplets flying everywhere, and Dean raised his arms to shield himself as he was bombarded by an icy downpour.

            “Alright, I have to get winter outta here before I freeze my ass off—”

            “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Spring Sprite,” a sly voice chuckled, and Dean whirled to find Ruby slinking out from the roots of the Sacred Oak, her eyes glinting and her pelt covered in frost. “Nice for you to finally join the party.”

            He bristled at the sight of her, the honeyed words from her mouth and the odd patterns on her fur— which no other wolf in Sam’s forest seemed to have— set his teeth on edge.

            Why was Sam still hanging around this she-wolf? Hadn’t he realized by now that she was bad news? And shy the hell he letting her hang around the Sacred Oak, the tree that both of them were born out of?

            “Be civil, Dean,” Sam warned.

            “Hey, Ruby,” was all Dean could grind out without weaving an insult into it. He liked defying his brother whenever he could, but Sam was talking in the Princely Tone that he usually used to remind Dean that he wasn’t the one who ruled the forest; he was just the guy Sam brought in when things had to be green.

            “No offense, but you look like shit. Your nature aesthetic is really the only thing you have going for you, and now that that’s gone…” She tsked softly, and it took all of Dean’s willpower not to leap over and wrap his hands around her stupid furry neck.

            She’d make a nice throw rug, wouldn’t she? A little decorum in his cave so he could wake up in comfort and luxury?

            “Dean.” Sam’s ears were doing that twitchy thing they did when he was annoyed, and he knew that if an elk could have a bitch face, this would be it.

            “Alright, I’m sorry,” Ruby apologized. “I probably shouldn’t be dissing the guy that’s gonna put an end to this awful winter.”

            “Apology acknowledged.” Dean didn’t think he could accept anything out of this bitch’s mouth. “Now if you excuse me, I have a season to start.”

            He marched over to the Sacred Oak, his head held high as the snow melted beneath his feet. The chill that had seeped into his bones was long gone, the air steaming as it came in contact with his warm skin, and he snatched the withered crown of flowers from his head and tossed it to the ground.

            “Here, let me show you how it’s done,” Dean scoffed, raising his hand.

            As soon as his palm made contact with the cold bark, the tree burst into full bloom, a canopy of leaves snapping open from its branches like an umbrella.

            Ruby’s jaw dropped as all of the snow within a ten-foot radius of the tree evaporated into nothing, leaving a huge patch of lush grass in its place, dotted with wildflowers. Around them, the air warmed up a good twenty degrees as the heart of the forest came to life, pumping Dean’s magic through the arteries of the forest.

            “What are you waiting for?!” Dean demanded as the snow retreated in all directions, the whole forest exploding into life.

            There was a crackle of ice and suddenly the Sacred Falls surged forth in an untamable torrent, fueled by snowmelt as its icy beard melted away.

            Sam sighed, rolling his eyes, and allowed Dean to clamber onto his back, the ice and snow on his hide melting when it came into contact with Dean’s skin.

            “On, mighty steed!”

            “I’m not a steed.” Sam grumbled even as he loped off, racing the spread of magic and leaving Ruby scrambling to catch up.

            The beginning was a little boring. Sam labored up the steep incline like the old buck he was, complaining of aches and pains the whole way, and Dean didn’t really do that much rejuvenation except clear the snow on the ground and make the trees on either side of them sprout leaves.

            The magic was dispersing faster than Dean was moving, and at this rate he wouldn’t be able to do anything himself.

            “Come on, pick up the pace!” he demanded, kicking his feet up onto the crown of Sam’s head, right between his antlers. “We don’t have all day.”

            Sam muttered some unsavory thing under his breath and put on a burst of speed, scrambling up the rest of the way and onto level ground before taking off at a hard gallop.

            Dean let out a whoop, scrambling to his feet so that he was balancing precariously on Sam’s back, ignoring his brother’s hissed complaints. He leapt over a fallen log and Dean almost went flying, but he’d been doing this for centuries now and was no stranger to a little turbulence.

            Throwing his hands out, his eyes lit up in delight as leaves erupted from the cold and barren trees sending the crows scattering as they cried out in shock. The sky opened up, the snow clouds clearing and replaced by a vibrant blue sky, and the sun seemed to shine more brightly, no longer as cold and distant as she’d been before.

            “Hey, slow down!” Ruby called from behind them, but by that point neither of the boys were listening as they barreled through the woods like an avalanche.

            The snow was melting in rivers, grass chutes and wildflowers sprouting up from the ground in an array of pinks, reds, yellows, and violets. The birds fled their nests and the squirrels abandoned their dens as they sang their joy, waving and whistling to Dean and Sam as they passed.

            Sam leapt over a frozen stream, the ice disintegrating beneath him and the tide surging up, gurgling happily as it was freed from its long months of slumber. Dean knew the feeling.

            Laughing, he jumped off of Sam’s back and allowed the spring breeze to carry him away. He was a little rusty controlling it, but all it took were a few sharp turns and a few near-collisions with trees before he was surfing the breeze like a pro, the air pushing up against his feet and feeling like a waterless current.

            Diving down like an eagle, he unleashed a swarm of butterflies from his palms, all of them different shapes, sizes, and colors as they fluttered around his head and alighted on his nose and cheeks. Dean shook them off with a snicker, crinkling his nose as he set loose crickets and dragonflies and fireflies, watching them disperse into the trees.

            He backed up as he looked on, his back hitting the bough of a hunchbacked sycamore, which was quickly scaled with ease of someone whose spent his entire life doing these kinds of things. It only took a little bit of magic to pull leaves from its branches, and Dean clapped his hands together as the tree blossomed beneath his fingertips.

            Beyond, however, he caught sight of a barren patch of dirt on the ground that didn’t seem to be taking to the grass all that well, and he swooped down to investigate, sowing a small green chute from its soil.

 

            He meticulously sculpted the flower with the utmost care, pinching the leaves into existence and curling the purple petals just so. But when he stepped back and surveyed his work, he couldn’t help but find it lackluster, and Dean chewed on his lip, rubbing his chin.

            With a mighty burst of magic, the little purple flower exploded upward into a gigantic flaming blossom that looked like it belonged more in the tropics than in a forest.

            “Better,” Dean stated with a grin, flitting off to a cherry blossom and filling its branches with gorgeous pink and white petals.

            Dean went on like that for a while, rejuvenating the land large swathes as the winter was dethroned and exiled from its reign over the forest. Sam and Ruby ran beneath him, both of them grinning, and Dean frowned at the cruel twist in the she-wolf’s lips. Then again, she did have huge fangs, so that’s probably what her smile looked like all the time.

            It was many hours before Dean settled down to rest, and by that time the forest was bright and lush, brimming with life as the rivers murmured and the birds harmonized in the trees.

            “Ugh, I need a nap,” Sam huffed, collapsing on a patch of moss next to a fallen tree and huffing as Dean leaned against his shaggy body. “I’ve been on my feet all day.”

            “You can say that again,” Ruby snorted, settling down a little too close to them for Dean’s comfort, though she ignored his curled lip. “I’m starving.”

            “You should probably go hunt, then,” Dean suggested, hoping that he didn’t sound too pushy, but the withering look Sam cast him was enough of an affirmation. “I mean, if you have nothing else to do.”

            “That’s a good idea, Dean,” Ruby snorted, shaking herself off. Her fur looked like fire in the sunlight, speckled with odd brown spots. “I’ll meet up with you two later. Try not to wander too far.”

            And with that, she was off, bounding into the underbrush and out of sight.

            “Good riddance,” Dean spat, folding his arms over his chest.

            “You must make an attempt to be kinder, Dean,” Sam insisted and nearly smacked Dean over the head with his antlers as he lowered his head to rest on the ground. “I understand that you are unaccustomed to hanging around anyone aside from myself, but you should try to make yourself more open to new things. New people.”

            “Not gonna happen,” Dean deadpanned, picking at the grass that he’d sown with his own two hands. “It used to be just you and me against the world. For centuries. Now Ruby’s come into the picture…” He shook his head. “She puts me on edge. I don’t like the vibe she’s giving me.”

            “I suppose that’s just your natural predisposition to be skeptical about the goodwill of others, but I can assure you that Ruby has a good heart. I’m no fool; I wouldn’t trust her if there was even an inkling of a reason not to do so. She’s been nothing but kind to us.”

            “She’s also a predator!” Dean insisted. “She could eat you.”

            “Not alone.”

            “She’ll bring a pack, then.”

            “Ruby’s been lone since the day she came into this forest and was rejected by Azazel, now Crowley’s, pack.”

            “There must’ve been a reason for that to happen, Sam!”

            “They didn’t much appreciate the patterns of her fur, and she was far too mouthy to yield to authority as an omega. She was never patient enough to wait to climb the ranks.”

            “What wolf is like that? What wolf doesn’t want power and influence in the pack?”

            “Ones that want instant gratification, perhaps. There, that’s a flaw. She wants instant gratification.” Sam chuckled, tossing his head. “My, what a dangerous vice that may prompt her to kill us both.”

            Dean hunched with a scowl.

            “On a different note, I’m glad you’re here, Dean,” Sam murmured, nudging Dean with his nose and wrenching a small smile through Dean’s sullen expression. “I’ve missed you.”

            “I’d say the same, but I don’t really feel the time difference.”

            “You’re lucky. The winter is hardly my favorite time of the year; this is the first time in six months that I haven’t been shivering the whole day.”

            “My offer still stands. You gotta admit, year-round spring and summer would be great.”

            “It would. I’d like to see you for more than half the year, but you know we can’t do that.”

            “Yeah, I know.”

            Dean turned his head away, his lips pursing into a thin line, when something caught his eye.

            “What’s the matter?” Sam asked, raising his head wearily. “What’s wrong?”

            Dean shushed him as he clambered to his feet, tiptoeing over to a snaggle of roots belonging to a skyscraping oak. He tilted his head and reached out to a mass of rot that was clinging to the bark and had spread to the ground, making the grass around it brown and withered.

            “Look at this.” Dean pointed at the rot as Sam trotted over, his ears on a swivel. “What is it?”

            “No fungus or blight that I know of. I think the tree might just be dying.”

            “But it’s indigo! Almost purple. What tree turns purple when it rots?”

            “Try healing it.”

            “That’s what I was planning on doing, bitch.”

            “Jerk.”

            Dean rubbed his hands together, making a big show of it as Sam rolled his eyes, and placed his hands so that they were framing wither side of the rot. His lids fluttered closed as he concentrated all of his magic on healing the bark, coaxing it to grow whole again beneath his fingertips.

            “Dean, get on with it.”

            “What the hell are you talking about, I’m trying as hard as I can!” He cracked an eye open and found that the rot was still there. “Son of a bitch.”

            “Uh-oh,” Sam nudged Dean, gesturing with his nose to a tree ahead, and Dean’s blood turned to ice in his veins when he saw that same rot creeping up its trunk and killing the moss that had made its home on the bark.

            If Dean looked farther, he could see more rot on the trees beyond.  

            “It’s like it’s spreading along a path,” he murmured, rising to his feet. He glided over to the other tree and tried to heal its rot, but to no avail. “Should we follow it?”

            Sam nodded. “The last thing I want is a blight killing the whole forest.”

            The thought made Dean shiver; Sam’s life force was connected to this forest. If it died, he died along with it, Dean would be weakened considerably, especially if the Sacred Oak died, but he could survive if he managed to make it to another forest, like the one beyond the North Mountain.

            Then again, why would he even want to live if the most important person in his life was gone?

            “Ruby’s gonna have to track us. Let’s go.”

            And with that, they set off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! I used Prince Philip as a reference for Dean in the art; I wanted to go more classical Disney style with the faces, unlike the Fantasia style that the Firebird Suite is in. Hope you liked it, and please leave a comment if you did!


	3. The North Mountain

**III.**

**THE NORTH MOUNTAIN**

_Chapter Soundtrack:_

_“The Burning Bush”_ Hans Zimmer, _The Prince of Egypt_ (1998)

 

\----Ӝ----

 

            The damage was worse than Dean had thought.

            The rot was running rampant, covering swathes of new growth in a sickly blanket of death and decay, and Dean ran his hands through his hair as he tried to take in the damage.

            “I literally just grew this shit,” Dean growled through clenched teeth, kneeling down beside a shriveled daisy. “How is it already rotting?”

            “I’m getting a bad feeling,” Sam agreed wearily, “I can sense the forest wilting.”

            Dean’s lips pursed into a thin line as the daisy’s petals turned to dust beneath his fingertips, raising his head to look up at the once-proud maple before him that sagged under the weight of the rot climbing up its bark.

            The trees whispered as they continued on, humming with the chatter of revitalized animals that darted and flitted among the undergrowth. They seemed uncaring of the looming threat that the rot presented or simply didn’t notice among the hustle and bustle of nest building, child rearing, and food gathering.

            This was the best part about Dean’s job; when he stepped in, all of the sadness and hardship of the winter washed away, replaced by joy and new life.

            Where there was a stark and barren tundra, there was now a verdant woodland, and one was marginally nicer to look at than the other, in Dean’s opinion.

            What was even nicer than the scenery was his brother.

            Dean kept sneaking glances at him, at the way he carried himself like the ground was rising up to meet him with each step, and couldn’t help but allow the feeling of familiarity and companionship wash over him.

            He remembered when the two of them first emerged from the Sacred Oak in the midst of a barren wasteland of ash and dust, coaxed out by the Great Spirits of their mother and father. The Oak had been but a seedling at that time, and Sam merely a calf who had trouble standing on his gangly legs.

            He still remembered the first and only words their parents had ever said to them: _“You are our children, and we love you dearly. We would like for you to use your gifts of Knowledge and Life to turn this desert into a sanctuary to all, but leave the North Mountain to its own devices. We have faith in you.”_

            And then it had just been him and Sammy, the two of them alone against the world.

            “Why are you looking at me like that?”

            Dean snapped out of his stupor, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just can’t get over how ugly your face is.”

            “Take that back.”

            “You need a haircut.”

            Sam reared up and gave Dean a shove, sending him toppling into the grass. He chuckled, rising up as Sam pawed at the ground.

            Dean lunged when his brother charged, grabbing his antlers and flipping him over onto his back, the two of them roaring with laughter as they wrestled on the ground and sprinted through the trees, their duties as the Guardians of the forest momentarily forgotten.

            They sent flocks of birds bursting from the undergrowth in a tizzy as they raced and knocked one another down. Though at times the impacts punched the air out of him, Dean boasted nothing but bruises and scratches for his trouble, and he was pretty sure that Sam had twisted one of his ankles at one point, but both of them were having too much fun to care about their injuries.

             Dean leapt onto Sam’s back, whooping as his brother whipped his head around and bucked in an attempt to dislodge him. Dean held his ground, leaning back and grabbing fistfuls of his brother’s pelt, but eventually Sam tired of humoring him and fell to the ground with full intentions of rolling over and crushing him.

            “I yield, I yield!” Dean cried.

            He was _always_ the one who yielded, and he couldn’t help but pout as he slid off of Sam’s back and sat beside him in the grass, cradling his huge head in his lap.

            There wasn’t really much of a contest between his 180 lb. human body and Sam’s 500 lb. bull elk body, especially the body of a bull elk that was also the god of the very forest they were wrestling in.

            “I missed this,” Sam sighed, puffing out a heavy breath through his nose as his ears swiveled. “Winters are always so lonely.”

            “They can’t be that bad.” Dean tried to sound reassuring, hesitating before he added, “You have Ruby.”

            “Yeah, but Ruby isn’t my brother.”

            Dean grinned and tried his best to pretend that his clear superiority over Ruby wasn’t that gratifying, but in reality the comment couldn’t’ve made him more satisfied.

            Their antics had brought them to a beautiful clearing, complete with wildflowers, big rocks, and a bubbling brook, and Dean reveled in the peace of it all. In this moment he could imagine that there were no royal duties or rotting issues that they had to worry about; they were footloose and carefree, able to just relax and frolic around the forest as much as they liked.

            The grass and flowers swayed hypnotically in the breeze, bees buzzing and butterflies fluttering about like tiny workers keeping the forest running. A frog croaked somewhere by the brook and the birdsong overhead filled the air with a beautiful symphony, the sunlight feeling like a warm touch against his skin.

            A pair of young bluebirds circled wove through the air and around their heads, eventually coming to alight on Sam’s antlers.

            “Hello, Your Majesty,” one of them chirped bashfully, preening her feathers as she leaned down to meet Sam’s eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

            “It’s nice to meet you, too,” Sam rumbled with a soft smile.

            Her and her companion giggled, but both of them shot into the air and away into the foliage at a sharp cry from their mother, prompting Sam to quickly rise to his feet and shattering their semblance of calm.

            “I’m terribly sorry, Your Majesty,” the haggard bluebird apologized, her feathers ruffled as she hovered right beside Sam’s head, acknowledging Dean with a bow but seeming unnerved by the withering pelts that clothed him. “I can assure that my chicks usually know better than to hitch a ride on your antlers and make doe eyes at you.”

            “It’s no problem,” Sam chuckled, tossing his head when the bluebird tried to interject. “It’s completely fine. Don’t worry about it.”

            She seemed skeptical but nodded nevertheless before flitting off in search of the runaways.

            “How kingly of you,” Dean snorted as he hauled himself upright and tossed his shirt to the side, baring his freckled shoulders for the first time since last summer. The shirt crackled as it hit the ground like a dead leaf in autumn.

            “What else could I have done? Punished them? I’m not a tyrant.”

            “Well, if I were you, I’d be running this joint like an empire,” Dean insisted as they resumed their journey, hopping over the babbling brook. “I’d be the king! People would call me ‘Your Majesty,’ too.”

             

            “I can ask them to do that, if you’d like.”

            “That title has to be earned.” He leaped up onto a fallen tree and tightroped along it, clambering over the jagged snaggle of roots upended from the ground.

            Dean frowned when he realized that the reason why the tree had fallen in the first place was a mass of rot that had shredded its roots like satin. “It seems to be getting worse the more we follow it.”

            “Probably because we’re getting closer to the source.”

            “But what’s the source?”

            Dean suddenly realized that the trees were thinning out, the crowded woodland fading into a sprawling green field, and he let out a ragged exhale as his feet cemented to the ground. 

            The North Mountain loomed up before them, a barren crag of rock and stone that stood starkly against the lush greenery and bright blue, cloudless sky.

            It was the one place that Dean’s magic could not go; no matter how much he tried, he could not bring life to its desolate cliffs and jagged edges.

            Therefore, it was no surprise that the rot came right up to the base of the mountain, and beyond that a path of discolored rock led made a trail up to its peak.

            “We have to follow it,” Dean insisted, even as Sam stepped back to the tree line, tense and wary. “Whoever or whatever is up there is poisoning our forest!”

            “Remember our parents’ warning,” Sam rumbled, shifting restlessly. “The North Mountain should be left alone. It’s beyond my jurisdiction; I won’t be able to protect you there.”

            “You’re acting like I’m the only one going.”

            “And you’re acting like I have the ability to leave the forest,” Sam retorted with a toss of his head. “This is as far as I can go.”

            “But I can’t just go by myself!”

            “It’s better that way!” Sam paced back and forth like a caged mountain lion, shaking his shaggy head. “You can’t go up there! What if you got hurt? This forest can’t survive another winter; we won’t be able to wait for our parents to send us another sprite.”

            “I’ll be fine,” Dean insisted, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself, and Sam let out an angry trumpet, a high-pitched shriek that ended in a growl. His mighty voice could’ve intimidated any other people, but Dean wasn’t ‘other people.’

            “Dean, this isn’t a good idea.”

            “We have to find out what’s killing the forest, Sam, so I can stop it.”

            Sam ground his teeth together but said nothing more, turning his head away sharply and pawing at the ground.

            Dean took that as a sign to leave, and he took off toward the North Mountain as fast as his legs could carry him, following the path of decay and discolor.

            He knew it would be a harrowing trip the moment his bare feet touched the razor-sharp stones of the mountain. Though it felt like he was walking on broken glass, Dean grit his teeth through it, staggering up the steep slope as Sam watched on warily, his hulking form growing smaller and smaller the longer that Dean labored.

            Dean would’ve used the wind to boost him up, but a part of him feared what was waiting for him; he wanted to keep low and maintain an element of surprise, and if he allowed the wind to carry him up there, it was like a huge neon sign signaling his presence.

            The North Mountain wasn’t as tall as other mountains but made up for it in sheer intimidation, clouds forming around its peak as Dean followed the rot, swirling overhead as if urging him to turn back.

            He felt weaker here, more exposed; his powers were out of commission, and he would’ve at least grown a bed of grass to cushion his feet if they’d been of any use. He was completely and utterly out of his element, and he cursed himself for not bringing some form of protection (or even, you know, a goddamn shirt) that could keep him safe in the event of an attack.

            _You should’ve listened to your brother, idiot._

            The trip seemed to last forever, not to mention how boring it was without Sam` at his side to keep up conversation, and after what felt like hours of climbing, he had to stop and sit himself down to catch his breath.

            The forest stretched out before him, a mass of green canopies that went on to the horizon like a leafy sea. If he concentrated hard enough, he could make out birds flying over the treetops and hear the buzz of life around him.

            Dean realized that the reason why the North Mountain was so creepy, aside from its gloomy surroundings, was its silence; there was nothing here, no chirping or rustling or howling. It was just the sound of Dean’s labored breathing and the scrape and skitter of stones beneath his feet, almost like the land here was too afraid to make any noise, lest they wake some terrible hidden beast that was slumbering on its summit.

            After a while longer, Dean finally reached the top, and his mouth dropped open.

            A huge crater stretched out before him, a blast of heat hitting his face like a wildfire, though there were no flames to be seen.

            The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up, and his muscles seized up as his whole body screamed _Run,_ but he forced himself to stay put as he peered over the edge.

            The rot led up to a huge mass of rock and obsidian that vaguely resembled a human, with crooked arms and a sloping back. It looked like it was writhing in agony.

            Dean let out a heavy breath, steeling himself, and vaulted over the edge of the crater, the wind steadying his descend and setting him down gently. He shuddered as the soles of his feet met an eerily warm ground, the rock heated slightly against his skin as if it was made of flesh and bone.

            He approached the mass of stone warily, scooping up a sharp stone (as if that would help him) and forcing his racing heart to calm down; he feared it was beating so loudly that it would alert any evildoers of his presence.

            When he came to a stop in front of the rocky mass, its human resemblance was unmistakable. He could make out a head and neck, though it seemed to have an extra set of huge arms spread out behind it. There were shallow indents that vaguely mimicked eye sockets, and a mouth that looked like it was contorted into a snarl.

            “Hello?” Dean called, in case there was someone hiding out in the shadows. “Hello!”

            The wind whistled.

            “Who is poisoning the forest?”

            Still no answer.

            Dean gulped as he regarded the rock formation. He didn’t want to get any closer, but the rot was leading right up to it, and there was little left for him to do but investigate.

            Treading lightly, he sidled up closer until he was standing face-to-face with it, his hands trembling where they clutched his pathetic, haphazard weapon. He stared. The rocks stared back.

            Dean tilted his head as he regarded its stony expression. A ludicrous thought came to him.

            What if it was alive, only…sleeping?

            He reached out without thinking it over, trying to draw his strength from his brother as he pressed his palm against the rock’s forehead and screwed his eyes shut.

            For the first time on this godforsaken mountain, his power surged to his fingertips when he called for it.

            “Wake up,” he murmured.

            Molten eyes snapped open as an earsplitting shriek ripped through the crater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger! The art will be coming soon; I'm on vacation and forgot to bring my drawing tablet, so you'll probably get another chapter but without art along with it.


	4. The Firebird

**IV.**

**THE FIREBIRD**

_“The Firebird Suite”_ Igor Stravinsky, _Fantasia_ (2002)

\----Ӝ----

           Dean leapt back as the rock formation exploded, a gigantic beast of magma and fire bursting from the ground like one of Dean’s flowers in the springtime.

           A blast of heat slammed into him, to the point where he was pretty sure all of his hair had just straight up turned to ash, and he staggered back as the brilliant light cast ghastly shadows across the crater’s jagged slopes.

           The creature out a shrill cry that had Dean clamping his hands over his ears as he scrambled away, evading the sizzling rocks as it spread its gigantic wings and stretched like it had just woken up from a deep slumber.

           _Which it just did, because of you, asshat,_ Dean scolded himself.

           The beast—a bird, he realized—tossed its head and clicked its beak, leveling its burning gaze on Dean as he struggled to keep his footing, falling flat on his ass and whirling around to regard the creature before him.

           _Firebird,_ Dean’s panicking head supplied. _It’s a firebird._

He scrambled for information, hoping that he could dredge up something about firebirds that wasn’t just the name, but there was nothing. He had no idea how it got here, how or why it had been hibernating, and didn’t have the slightest inkling of what he had to do to make it go back to sleep and not turn him into barbeque.

           Were firebirds inherently aggressive or was this one in particular just majorly pissed off?

           Could it even speak?

           Dean put on what he hoped was a winning smile, knowing fully well that it looked more like he was holding a rock between his teeth, and dragged himself to his feet. His chest was soaked and the hairs at the nape of his neck were downright soggy, and he wiped his forehead as a bead of sweat dribbled down his temple.

           The firebird wasn’t making any move to attack him, though, merely studying him with its eyes that smoldered with blue fire and tilting its glacier-sized head. It seemed a bit smaller than when it had first erupted from the ground, if Dean was seeing things right—less like a mountain of flame and more like a decent-sized hill of sorts—and he managed to steel himself against the chant of _Run! Run! Run!_ reverberating around his skull.

           Even though he didn’t know much about firebirds, the talons this thing was boasting and the sharp hook of its beak made it clear that this thing wasn’t a grazer. If Dean ran now, he had little doubt that the firebird would give chase, and that could prove catastrophic if it killed Dean or set fire to Sam’s forest.

           “Um, hi!” Dean gave a small wave, wondering if his words were even audible over the roar and crackle of the firebird’s feathers. “It’s nice to meet you!”

           It wasn’t nice to meet him, but Dean was laying it on thick.

           “I’m Dean! I’m the resident sprite, and I…uh…I welcome you to…to Samuel’s Forest!”

           Another lie. The North Mountain wasn’t Sam’s domain in the slightest and Dean certainly didn’t have the authority to welcome the firebird into it even if it was, but he was just trying not to get deep fried at this point.

           The firebird just watched him, silent. It made Dean wonder if the shriek it let out when it emerged was just a trick of his ears.

           He tried to coax the firebird into conversation. “What’s your name?”

           There were more pressing questions at hand, such as “Why are you here?” “What put you to sleep?” and “Will you please go back to bed?” but he knew that he couldn’t ask these ones until he and the firebird were more acquainted.

           Which would probably prove to be difficult, considering that the firebird did not respond.

           Dean broke out into even more of a sweat, but not because of the heat. He wrung his hands in front of him at the terrifying suspicion that this firebird might not be able to communicate or even understand what Dean was saying.

           He tried again, though his voice was noticeably more panicked, “This forest is very old, but you’ve been here for longer. Sam—Samuel—is my brother, and we’ve been working hard on building it up and making it strong. We never really thought to come here and explore.”

           _Stop lying! You’re digging yourself into a hole and you haven’t even finished the first conversation yet!_

“Is there anything you need? Food? W—” His dumbass brain almost made him say “water,” but thankfully he was able to hold his tongue. He wasn’t sure if water was a tender subject with this particular species.

           The firebird still didn’t respond. Was it just Dean or did its staring look hungrier than before?

           He was running out of options; this encounter had taken a really sharp turn for the worst, and the only other choice seemed to be to high-tail it the fuck out of there, but there was absolutely no way he was going to lead this thing right to the forest and risk his brother’s life and the lives of the thousands of animals that lived there.

           The only other option was to die, really, and that was _not_ high on the list of things Dean really wanted to go through on his first day awake.

           In a last-ditch effort, he asked, “You got any questions, or—?”

           “How old is this forest? Exactly?”

           Dean froze, all of his muscles locking up at the rumble of a raspy, crackling baritone that was completely different than the reverberating bassline he was expecting to come out of this thing’s mouth.

           “P-p-pardon?” he stuttered, too shell-shocked to register what the firebird had said. Along with the shell-shock came the slightest bit of relief; if it could communicate, then it wouldn’t eat him.

           _Or it just can talk to you while it devours you._

“The forest,” it repeated, the blue fire in its eyes seeming to burn impossibly brighter. “How old is it?”

           “Precisely?”

           “I’m pretty sure I assented and told you that I would like the exact age.”

           Dean bristled, his fear melting away as his hands balled into fists. Now that this firebird was acting more like any other arrogant prick of a creature and not an all-powerful, all-knowing beast, his fear was gradually being eclipsed by his frustration.

           “This forest is nine hundred and five years, eleven weeks, two days, thirteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes old,” he growled before he could stop himself.

           What happened to his only goal being not to get roasted?

           The firebird tilted its head, opening its beak, and Dean half expected it to blast him with fire breath as it hissed, “I assume you are trying to be humorous.”

           “Not really,” Dean snapped, the wind boosting him up slightly so they could see eye to eye. “I just want to know why the hell you’re poisoning my forest.”

           The firebird shifted—and yeah, it was definitely getting smaller, now down to the size of a boulder—and leapt off of its perch on the molten remains of the rock formation. Its eyes seemed harder, angrier. “I beg your pardon?”

           “Don’t play dumb. I just brought spring back _today_ , and now there’s this rampant rot going around that I can’t heal. It just so happens to lead right up to that rock formation you’re standing on.”

           He gestured to the discolored rock, to the microscopic mosses and lichens that had withered and died at the hands of the purple-blue rot. The firebird leaned down, its eyes narrowing critically.

           “I am responsible for no such thing. I was asleep.”

           Dean bristled. Extended slumber was something he knew all too well, and he _hated_ how this complete chickenshit was trying to use it as an excuse. It didn’t seem malicious, just pissy from being woken up, and Dean wondered why it was too prideful to just admit it was doing this and tell him how to fix it.

           “There’s a clear line leading right up to you. I have no idea how I could possibly think it was someone else.”

           “Well it appears you were wrong,” the firebird hissed, its wings flaring up in warning, and Dean was pretty sure the temperature leapt up another twenty degrees. “How could I cause a rot? I am a firebird, not a witch. My only magic is my fire.”

           Dean hesitated, worrying on his lip. It did sound reasonable, but he really didn’t know enough about firebirds to start believing him.

           “Fine, if you’re not the culprit, then you’re going to help me find out who is.”

           “What?!” the firebird spluttered, and a geyser burst forth from the ground only a few yards away, spewing steam. “I have only just woken up from a nine-hundred-year sleep, and now I am being given orders from a…a _sprite?_ ”

           “That’s the only thing that seems fair!” Dean bellowed, and suddenly a huge sycamore burst up from the geyser, effectively plugging it up, and the firebird blinked owlishly at the giant tree that had willed itself into being right before its eyes.

           It shook its head, retorting in a more measured tone, “How am I supposed to know that you didn’t just start the rot yourself and are just trying to lure me out and kill me?”

           “Dude, my brother and I didn’t even know you existed.”

           “Now who’s playing dumb?” the firebird roared, flames spewing from its mouth and setting the sycamore ablaze, and Dean leapt back as it toppled over, the fires eating it up hungrily until it was nothing but ash. “You may not bear his face, but I know you are acquainted with the beings who put me to sleep in the first place!”

           “What are you talking about?”

           “John and Mary! The Great Spirits! They were the ones who forced me to rest upon this very mountain, and how am I supposed to know that you are not one of them in disguise?”

           Dean’s breath got caught in his lungs. His parents were the ones who’d put this firebird to sleep? And they hadn’t even bothered to tell him and Sam exactly what it was?

           There was a good chance that this guy would grill him like a steak if he didn’t think about his next words carefully. There was a long, awkward pause before a hesitant, “They are my parents.”

           The firebird looked like he was about to explode and turn the North Mountain into a goddamn volcano—dread settled low in Dean’s stomach when he recalled how desolated the landscape had been when he and Sam were born, like it had been ravaged by fire and magma—but Dean quickly elaborated, “But only in theory. They don’t talk to me or anything.”

           “Excuse me?”

           Dean soldiered on, his mouth working as his brain put the pieces of the puzzle together, “What do you call people who create two sons, give them vague instructions on how to run things, and then fuck off to god-knows-where? Are they still parents?”

           The firebird did that head tilt thing again. “I don’t believe so.”

           “Then no, John and Mary are not my parents.”

           The words made him cringe, but he needed to gain the firebird’s trust and cooperate with it until it could offer him an explanation or full-on help to solving this rot situation. He realized the big picture now, his mind returning back to the ravaged landscape and his parents’ warning that they should leave the North Mountain alone; they’d put the firebird to sleep so it wouldn’t scorch the forest any longer.

           His blood went cold at the prospect that; if Dean messed this up, the firebird might do the same to his and Sam’s forest.

           The firebird seems to relax at Dean’s assurance, though its expression was still hard. “You have no loyalty to them?”

           Dean ground his teeth together but nodded with a terse, “No.”

           He hoped that the firebird would interpret his reluctance as bitterness.

           “Very well.” It didn’t sound at all happy to be having this conversation. “What is your name?”

           “Dean,” he responded before he could stop himself. “My name is Dean.”

           “A quite…human name for a sprite, no?”

           Dean ground his teeth and was pretty sure the whole interior of the crater was starting to grow moss and lichen as his anger bled into his surroundings. “My full name is Deineliades.”

           “Interesting. I’m Castiel.”

           Dean couldn’t care less, but he only nodded tersely, his fingers flexing. “So, Cas-teel—”

           “Castiel.”

           “Whatever.” The firebird ruffled his feathers indignantly, but he ignored him. “So, Castiel, are you going to help me or not?”

           “What will happen if I don’t?”

           “Then I have a whole river with your name on it.”

           Castiel scowled, his eyes flashing. “Or, I could burn you where you stand.”

           “Fine. Bring on an eternal winter until another sprite is sent. But with winter comes snow, big guy, and there seems to be a cloudy forecast coming our way.”

           Castiel cursed in an ancient language that Dean couldn’t even recognize, much less interpret, before slowly nodding. “Very well. I will help you on one condition.”

           “Being?”

           “You will not, under any circumstances, put me back to sleep like your parents once did.”

           Dean froze, worrying at his lower lip, before stating, “As long as you help me cure this rot and don’t endanger the forest.”

           “It’s a deal.”

           “How are we going to shake on it?”

           Castiel smirked, his blazing feathers and molten body condensing and re-forming, like magma being sculpted into a statue. Dean was struck by the resemblance to the rock formation as a nose and mouth replaced Castiel’s beak and feathers and rock smoothed into skin.

           Dean’s mouth dropped open as Castiel rose to his feet, no longer a firebird but rather a man that was just about Dean’s height. His jaw was chiseled and his eyes still burned blue like the fire he’d once been made of, his body muscular like he spent all of his time running.

           The firebird clambered down from his perch to stand toe to toe with Dean, who could feel the heat radiating off of him like a furnace, and extended his hand. Dean was keen to note how his fingernails were pointed, like talons, but he shook on it anyway. Castiel had a crushing grip.

           Dean cursed himself internally. He shouldn’t be making deals with this firebird, especially not without Sam’s permission; he didn’t think his brother would take kindly to having a firebird living among his very large, very flammable forest.

           What was done was done, though, and now Dean had a new partner to help him get to the bottom of this.

           _Unless he was the one who did it,_ a voice chided, but Dean swatted it away.

           The firebird had clearly been asleep for decades, so either he was doing it unintentionally, he was innocent, or he was a pretty damn good liar with a great alibi.

           “Now, I believe that I know of someone who will be able to help,” Castiel stated as he surveyed the area, his lips quirking into a sly smile that Dean couldn’t’ve trusted even if his parents had ordered him to do so. “His name is Raphael. He is very skilled when it comes to identifying all forms of animals and plant matter.”

           “Raphael…” Dean trailed off, recalling the name. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t match the name to a face.

           “I’m not sure if he’s still around, but he was when I was awake. When I knew him, he was a minor nature god who documented every plant, fungus, rock, and animal he encountered. He’d even ventured beyond the forest, and the resident forest god and sprite—before you and Samuel were around, of course—often consulted him if there was ever a blight or an invasive species.”

           Dean’s blood ran cold. There were other nature gods here before him and Sam? He’d had siblings?

           His thoughts went back to the desolate wasteland that looked nothing like a forest, marked only by the budding oak tree that he and Sam and emerged from.

           If there were any other gods here before, they certainly weren’t here now.

           _Castiel killed them,_ he thought, balling his hands into fists so the firebird couldn’t see how they were trembling. _He burned down the forest and they died._

           “How do you know if this Raphael guy is still around?” he managed to ask, though his voice wavered slightly. “What if he died?”

           “Your brother will probably know him,” Castiel stated. “If he’s dead or gone away, then we have a serious problem on our hands.” He looked to the top of the crater, his expression thoughtful. “I could always try burning it away. You could extend the river to corral in the area with the rot and I could set it ablaze.”

           “No!” Dean cried, a little too vehemently, and at Castiel’s narrowed eyes he quickly added, “I don’t want there to be any accidents. Besides. I don’t think my brother would approve of that anyway.”

           “It is a more efficient and less time-consuming method,” Castiel insisted with a scowl.

           “Well, my brother’s life is riding on your fires staying contained, and considering what I assume happened last time you set fire to the forest, I’m not going to take the risk.”

           It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he clamped his hands over his mouth as if he could snatch the words out of the air and swallow them back down.

           Castiel snarled, the air around them suddenly getting at least ten degrees hotter, and he looked like he was about to pounce on Dean and rip him to shreds. After a tense stare-down, Dean finally prevailed as Castiel ducked his head and set off toward the crater wall, two fiery wings emerging from his back.

           “So, are we going to find Raphael or not?” he demanded and Dean’s lips curled.

           He called for the wind to boost him up at the same moment Castiel beat his mighty wings and launch him into the air.

           As they soared over the edge of the crater, Dean couldn’t help but feel like he’d just made a terrible, terrible mistake by letting this thing out.

           _Good gods, Sam is going to_ kill _me._


	5. Bad Blood

**V.**

**BAD BLOOD**

_Chapter Soundtrack:_

_“I am Merida”_ Patrick Doyle, _Brave_ (2012)

\----Ӝ----

 

            As soon as he saw them approaching, Sam reared up on his hind legs and screeched, pawing at the ground and tearing up the grass and flowers under his cloven hooves.

            “Whoa, Sammy, calm down,” Dean soothed as he touched down, but Sam wasn’t looking at him, tossing his head and rearing up again when Dean tried to placate him with outstretched hands.

            Castiel watched on with detached amusement, tilting his head when Sam bellowed at him, brandishing his antlers.

            “Sam! Get a hold of yourself!”

            “He smells like _smoke_ , Dean,” Sam hissed, his eyes zeroed in on Castiel. “What happened? I saw a huge explosion and—”

            “This is Castiel,” Dean introduced, stepping away so the two could regard each other face-to-face. “He’s a firebird that our parents put to sleep before we were born.”

            “A _firebird?!_ ”

            “Do you have a problem with that, Samuel?” Castiel challenged, his eyes flashing like burning coals.

            “Yes, actually! My forest is sort of flammable, if you haven’t noticed.”

            “He’s going to help us cure the rot,” Dean assured. “He said that a guy named Raphael could help us.”

            “Raphael?” Sam spluttered. “The eagle?”

            “He is very skilled with identifying all sorts of plant matter,” Castiel explained. “The gods before you consulted him frequently.”

            “Gods before…?”

            “I’ll tell you later, Sam,” Dean interjected before the subject of how Castiel burned the previous forest to ashes could rise. “Do you know where Raphael lives?”

            Sam considered this, his ears flicking. “The last I heard, he was still in his nest by the lake.”

            “Lake?” Castiel hissed.

            Sam chuckled darkly, and Castiel’s expression contorted.

            “It’s a three days’ trek from here, so we’d better get moving.” He turned to Castiel, growling, “If I see a single spark from you, I won’t hesitate to have you dealt with.”

            “I’d like to see you try.”

            Electricity crackled between the two of them, and Dean ushered everyone along before an all-out fight could break out and he’d have to prevent his brother from getting blowtorched and his new ally from getting skewered with antlers.

            The ensuing walk was a dumbfounding juxtaposition of relaxing and anxiety-inducing. The trees swayed as if in dance, rejoicing the new return of spring that had melted the frost from their bark and brought leaves to their branches, and the chatter of wildlife made for soothing background noise. The ground was soft and damp beneath their feet, as if it had just rained, and the air was a warm, soothing caress against their skin that greatly contrasted with the biting claws of winter.

            Despite this, the tension in the air was so thick that Dean feared he would breathe it in and choke on it. Castiel and Sam didn’t speak, keeping a considerable distance away from each other and always putting Dean between them as a barrier, and he kept shooting them worried glances, fearing that one wrong word would end in catastrophe.

            To keep his mouth shut, Dean occupied himself by sprouting flowers and growing moss, using the wind to boost himself up to the leafy canopy so he could extend the branches on trees and make their leaves greener.

            A sparrow chick had fallen from its mother’s nest, and he scooped it up and placed it back with its brothers and sisters.

            “Hungry!” They cried, their mouths opening and their skeletal bodies patched with the beginnings of feather growth. “Hungry! Hungry!”

            “Your mother will be back soon,” he assured them, but that didn’t make their complaining any less loud.

            When he fell back into step with the group, he was shocked when Castiel turned to him and said, “You tend to this forest very well.”

            “I…uh…thanks.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

            “The gods and sprites before you were more laissez-faire,” Castiel stated, turning his head to watch a mother sparrow, no doubt the mother of the crying chicks, zip past with a worm in her beak. “They didn’t care as much for their forest as you do.”

            “This forest is the second-most important thing in my life.”

            “What’s the first?”

            “My brother.” He gestured to Sam, who was lagging behind and lost in thought, his shaggy head hanging low to the ground and his ears rotating. “My life force is only partially attached to this forest; if I can get to another forest in time, I can live if this one is destroyed, but Sam…” Dean trailed off, shaking his head. “If this forest died, he’d die with it, and I can’t have that happen. That’s why getting rid of this rot is so important to me.”

            “I don’t know why you bother. He doesn’t seem like the kind worth saving.”

            “Shut your mouth,” Dean hissed, and a wisteria beside them suddenly sprouted thorns, though Castiel only seemed mildly entertained.

            “I find it interesting, how much you care for your brother.” Castiel turned his gaze skyward, the sunlight filtering through the leaves casting shifting highlights and shadows over his face. “The god and sprite before you hated each other. They were brothers, too, but they hardly spoke, spending their days gorging themselves and sitting idle.”

            Dean didn’t want to keep talking to this massive prick, but his curiosity had been piqued, and he hesitated before asking, “What were their names?”

            “Michael and Lucifer. Michael was the eldest, the sprite, and Lucifer was the forest god.” Castiel’s wings shifted, the plumage looking like a sunset.

            Dean was glad his feathers weren’t on fire anymore; now that they weren’t terrifying and deadly, Castiel’s wings looked…kind of nice, though he didn’t want to inflate his ego more than it already was.

            “But Lucifer was…spiteful. He cared little for the natural order of things.”

            “I don’t really, either,” Dean admitted, watching two squirrels chasing each other across the treetops. He had no idea why he was telling Castiel this. “Sometimes I think I should just stay the whole year and let it be spring forever.”

            “That’s understandable, but you would never go through with it if you knew it would hurt the forest, right?”

            “Of course.”

            “Lucifer and Michael got into a terrible argument right before Lucifer put Michael to sleep at the end of summer, something trivial about their father.” His lips curled bitterly. “Winter came and went, and eventually it was time for spring. Only, Lucifer wouldn’t wake Michael up. He went into hiding as animals starved and the forest withered under the hand of an eternal winter. There was still snow on his trees while other forests were lush and warm. There was a mass exodus of wildlife.”

            “What happened after that?”

            Castiel’s lips quirked, “A story for another time, perhaps. I find it funny how you have no knowledge of your own history despite supposedly being the resident sprite.”

            The smile melted off of Dean’s face, and he slowed his pace to walk beside his brother instead, allowing Castiel to walk ahead by himself.

            “I don’t think I can take a whole trip of this,” Dean growled, and Sam jerked out of whatever headspace he’d been in.

            “Pardon?”

            “Castiel is a dick.”

            “I’ve been trying to tell you this, and yet you’ve only just figured that out now,” Sam scoffed, nudging Dean with his head chidingly. “I say the moment he has is guard down, we throw him in Raphael’s lake and see if he can swim.”

            Castiel’s head snapped around to glare at Sam accusingly, his eyes blazing as his wings flared, and Sam only bared his teeth, however blunt they were. Dean had been bitten by Sam many times before—sometimes on accident, sometimes not—and he’d soon realized that even though they couldn’t rip and tear flesh, they were great and grinding it to a pulp.

            “How am I supposed to work with you two to save your forest if you’re constantly making plans to end my life?!” Castiel bellowed.

            “Maybe if you stopped being such an asshole, we wouldn’t consider it!”

            “That was actually just you—” Dean shrank back at Sam’s look of furious betrayal.

            “You’re ungrateful. I’m helping to keep you alive, and this is how you repay me?” Castiel shrilled. “I could be halfway across the world right now, enjoying my first time free after so many years of slumber, but _no_ , I’m here slumming it up with you two idiots—"

            “That’s it!” Sam roared and reared up, his glowing eyes consumed by a blazing white as he let out a horrific bray that pierced through the peaceful landscape. “You’ve told us where we have to go. We can take it from here while my friends escort you back to your mountain.”

            The forest seemed to turn to look at Castiel like an angry mob that had just been directed to a scapegoat, and the firebird’s eyes widened as the grass and branches reached out to grab at him.

            Blue jays lunged from the trees and circled his head to peck and claw at his skin, and chipmunks scuttled from their burrows and chittered at him furiously. Castiel warded them off with ease, and Dean could see the way the air around him was starting to shimmer with heat.

            “You expect this to intimidate me?” he scoffed, his eyes sparking.

            Sam said nothing, only offering Castiel a sly smirk as two mountain lions stalked from the underbrush, their pelts sleek and their eyes glittering as they licked their chops.

            “We’re big fans of chicken,” one of them growled.

            “Flambé,” the other sneered, and the two of them chuffed, slinking toward Castiel, who was backing up slowly.

            “Enough, Sam,” Dean insisted as a grizzly bear lumbered into view, rising up on her hind legs to watch Castiel with dark eyes. “Sam, I swore to him that I wouldn’t put him back to sleep again!”

            “Well, _I_ didn’t swear him anything! He’s a danger to my forest _, my life_ , Dean.”

            “Being an asshole isn’t the same as being evil and wanting to burn the whole forest down. Take a chill pill and let these guys go back to doing whatever they were doing.” Dean dipped his head at the hoard of animals that had amassed, called to action by the cry of their king. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

            Sam stood stock still for a few moments, pawing at the ground. He glanced at Dean, who did his best to give him a sincere, pleading look. It must’ve been convincing enough, since Sam raised his head and let out a calmer trumpet that had all of the animals slipping back into the woods and disappearing like shades.

            “You’re lucky you have Dean on your side. If he wasn’t here, you’d already be either asleep or dead.”

            “Perhaps I _am_ lucky.” Castiel was staring at him with an expression that for once didn’t contain some degree of disgust, to the point where it was kind of awkward and Dean couldn’t hold his gaze for long.

            The grass had died in a three-foot radius around him from his stress, and he quickly healed it with a thought. “I think we should settle down. We’ve all had a big day—first day of spring, first day awake, and so on and so forth. I think we need a break.”

            “Fine,” Sam snorted, “There’s a clearing not far from here that we can settle in. Maybe once we stay in one place Ruby can find us again.”

            Dean hid his displeasure with a smile and allowed his brother to lead the way. His feet were sore and tired, cut up by rocks and stones and scratched by sticks. They would all heal in due time, but they smarted and stung as he kept re-opening the scabs while tromping through the undergrowth.

            _I created this shit. It shouldn’t be able to hurt me,_ he thought bitterly.

            The day was slipping away from them bit by bit, and pretty soon the shadows grew long and oranges and reds bled into the sky like mixing paint. The birds in the trees settled, giving them all a break from the incessant chatter, and the smaller critters had retreated into their burrows to hide for the night.

            Everyone was exhausted from the day’s festivities, but for some, the day was just beginning.

            An owl rose up from the trees, circling soundlessly over their heads like a shadow silhouetted against the sunset before disappearing, and a coyote call from somewhere in the distance.

            It was beautiful, but Dean was too miserable to admire it.

            He thought he would fall to his knees and sing hallelujah when they finally reached a quaint little clearing tucked into a copse of trees. The doe and her fawn who’d been grazing there leapt away as if Castiel had given them an electric shock, and that left the place blissfully empty.

            “Here,” Dean shuffled over to a huge flat boulder, worn down by a river that had long since dried, and grew a thick cushion of grass and moss on it.

            “It doesn’t look that comfortable,” Castiel sneered, wrinkling his nose, and Dean planted his hands on his hips.

            He knew damn well that Castiel was just trying to pull his leg, but Dean had been making moss beds since the moment he was created; the insult to his prized work cut a little too deeply for his liking. Then again, maybe it was just because he was Castiel and literally anything could come out of his mouth and Dean would somehow manage to find it insulting.

            “Hey, I just made a place for you to sleep. A simple ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

            “But there’s no pillow.”

            Dean ground his teeth together and padded the moss thicker on one side.

            “Blankets?”

            “What next, five glasses of champagne and some extra towels?! I’m a sprite, not fucking room service.”

            Castiel reluctantly took a seat on the moss, looking like he hated every second of it. “I should be roosting in a tree, not in a bed on the ground. I’m too exposed down here.”

            A tree exploded into being right next to him, and he leapt back with a shocked cry. Dean forced down his laughter as Sam chuffed his amusement behind him.

            “Here’s your tree,” Dean said through gritted teeth, offering a strained smile. “The next one is gonna go straight up your ass if you’re not careful, got it?”

            Castiel launched himself up into the upper branches without another word, and Dean was glad to see him go. He wondered if he should knock the tree down and hope that Castiel got killed in the process.

            It was tempting, but he shook his head clear before the idea could fester.

            “Ugh, my hooves,” Sam groaned, his knees buckling as he collapsed into the dirt at the base of the tree, settling among the roots. “Did I contract an infection on the way here?”

            “Don’t be such a wuss,” Dean teased despite how he’d been complaining for almost the entire journey. He looked up and saw Castiel’s glowing eyes peering at him through the branches. Creep.

            Sam seemdd so peaceful, curled up so that his snout was resting on his hind leg and his eyes closed. So, naturally, Dean knew that his brother must be disturbed at all costs.

            Before he could think better off it, Dean sprinted forward and leapt at his brother, his knees slamming into Sam’s side.

            Sam yelped, legs floundering, and had he been human, Dean probably would’ve just broken all of his ribs. He clambered onto his back and pulled at his antlers and punched his thick, muscled neck, knowing fully well that it only felt like a flick to him.

            “Dean! I want to sleep.” He sounded weary, even as Dean dealt a punishing blow to his shoulder that would’ve had any many buckling in agony. “Dean…”

            “No! C’mon, Sammy, let’s wrestle.”

            Sam turned to face him, his lip curling when Dean slapped at his gigantic head, and screamed in his face, a shrieking noise that sounded like a broken engine. Dean clapped his hands over his ears and surrendered as his brother rolled onto his with a grunt.

            “This is abuse,” Sam declared as Dean laid down on top of him.

            “I’d feel guilty if I knew it was hurting you, but it’s not, so I don’t feel any guilt whatsoever. Nada.”

            “Jerk.”

            “Bitch.”

            There was a shifting overhead, and Dean caught a glimpse of Castiel hunkering down in the branches.

            _We make a weird team,_ he thought as he allowed his eyes to slip closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been very busy these past few months, but I promise that I haven't given up on this story!


End file.
